Don't Sweat the Small Stuff
by JJ Phoenix
Summary: Of all the things that could have gone wrong during a salt and burn, Dean never expected this to be one of them.
1. Chapter 1

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Dean Winchester took a swig of his beer and stabbed at the giant slab of red meat in front of him. As he studied the contents of his fork, he briefly wondered whether or not the dripping hunk of beef was even worth consuming. Deciding against it, the hunter instead focused his attention on the pile of fries at his fingertips.

Outside, the hot August sun was beginning to disappear over the horizon, painting the sky in gorgeous shades of orange and violet.

Across from Dean, his younger brother, Sam, was alternating between sipping his beer and working his fingers vigorously over the keyboard of his laptop. The previous day, the brothers had successfully defeated a Black Dog in the suburbs of Salt Lake City, Utah, and were now on the hunt for their next case.

When scouring the newspapers proved futile, Sam had begun the task of searching for a decent gig on the internet. Both hunters would agree that the world wide web didn't always provide the most accurate leads, but every once in awhile, they'd come across a promising article.

Earlier that day, the brothers had come across an article from an Arizona newsmagazine reporting the bizarre deaths of several men in the Tucson area. Every August for the past seven years, a different man's body had been discovered in the stream near Catalina State Park.

When the first body was discovered in 1999, authorities ruled the cause of death an accidental drowning. Though it was unclear as to why the victim's car had been found on Highway 77 rather than the lot overlooking the state park, no foul play was evident.

The following August, a second body was recovered about a quarter mile upstream from where the first victim was found. Local police were baffled by the similarities of the men's deaths and reopened the previous year's case hoping to establish some sort of evidence that the deaths had not been accidental.

Each lead came up empty and each August, one more body was recovered from the stream. Each of the victim's vehicles were found abandoned on Highway 77 near mile marker 81, and it didn't appear that any of the men were connected.

The annual deaths continued to perplex the local authorities and state police, and even after seven years, no suspects had been named.

It had been several minutes since Sam had stopped complaining about the lack of information on the Tucson case, and his older brother took that as his cue.

"You get anything?" Dean asked around a mouthful of fries. The prime rib may have been questionable, but the side dish more than made up for it.

"Hang on…" Sam continued his research for several more moments and turned the laptop to face Dean with a satisfied smirk.

"You wanna just give me the Cliff's Notes here, Geek Boy? You know I don't get off on reading this shit like you do."

Sam finished the rest of his beer and turned the computer back around. "I narrowed the search to look for anything that might have happened in the state park prior to 1999. Turns out that on August 14, 1998, an Elizabeth Howard was found dead in the stream. The cops were ready to rule it accidental until her husband came forward a few days later. Guess the guy couldn't take the guilt."

"Her husband drowned her? Does it say what his motive was?"

"Says here that Pete Howard had been having an affair with a coworker and was afraid Elizabeth had caught on. God, can you imagine?"

Dean raked his non-greasy hand through his hair. "Sounds like a vengeful spirit to me."

"Yep," Sam agreed. "I went back and found the original reports of each of the seven drownings. Some bodies were recovered the night of the 14th, others not until days later, but the victims' vehicles were always found abandoned on the same stretch of highway after sundown on August 14th.

"You think Elizabeth's spirit is somehow luring these guys to their deaths?"

"Looks like it. None of the victims had intended to go to the state park. It's like the spirit somehow got them to pull their cars over and make their way to the edge of the stream."

Dean's jade eyes widened in realization. "You're sure this has happened every year?"

"Every August 14th since the year after Elizabeth's murder, just like clockwork," Sam nodded.

"You do realize what day it is, right?"

Sam sighed and leaned back in the booth. "The 13th," he supplied, answering the rhetorical question anyway.

"So chances are, another man is gonna die tomorrow if we don't find a way to stop this."

Sam sighed. "Most likely. But Dean, it's already dark out. Tucson is like a sixteen hour drive from here. We'll never make it."

"Does it say where Elizabeth is buried?"

"Yeah, I pulled up her obituary. Evergreen Cemetery in Tucson."

"I'm bettin' if we torch her bones, the killings will stop."

"You really think we'll make it in time?"

"Grab your shit and let's go."

-------------

Dean eased the Impala to a stop just beyond Evergreen Cemetery's main entrance. What was supposed to be a sixteen hour drive turned into seventeen, thanks to a combination of heavy traffic, multiple cups of coffee, and the subsequent bathroom breaks.

It was now after 2pm, and the hot August sun was at its peak. According to the local news, the heat index had reached one hundred and fifteen degrees, and while Dean adored his precious Impala, he silently cursed the classic's lack of air conditioning.

"Okay," Sam began, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I guess we should find Elizabeth's grave and come back when it's dark."

"Let's just dig her up now," Dean suggested, mimicking Sam's actions and using his forearm to remove the perspiration from his forehead.

"Now? Are you crazy? Dean, you heard the weather report. It's over one hundred degrees out here! Look, I'm starving. Let's go and grab some food and come back tonight. That way the heat won't be so unbearable."

"Yeah, but what if something happens and we don't torch her in time? We can't risk being out here all night. If we don't stop this chick ASAP, there's a good chance someone else will die."

"What if someone sees us? It looks empty now, but people could come through any time."

"We don't both need to be digging. One of us can keep an eye out. Come on, Sammy. Let's get this over with." Dean climbed out of the car and made his way to the trunk.

Though Sam was still uneasy about his brother's decision, he had to admire Dean's eagerness to put Elizabeth's spirit to rest. Dean was right. They couldn't risk letting this case go until tonight. By then, it might be too late for the unsuspecting victim.

Taking an extra moment to peel his sweat-soaked t-shirt from the upholstery, Sam stood and met his brother at the trunk.

"Here." Dean grabbed a shovel and tossed an empty duffel at his brother. "Pack it but leave it in the trunk. I don't want to have to carry it with us just in case we do have to make a quick getaway."

Sam caught the bag and filled it with a canister of salt, lighter fluid, and one of Dean's extra lighters. As an afterthought, he stocked the bag with the salt gun and extra rounds, just in case Elizabeth decided to make herself known.

Closing the trunk, Sam jogged to catch up with his brother, who had already begun the task of searching for Elizabeth's grave.

--------------

Dean removed his saturated gray t-shirt and stuffed it halfway down the back of his pants before resuming his digging. The sweat poured off his forehead, cascading down the length of his face and continuing its journey down his chest, finally pooling at the waistband of his jeans.

With each heave of the shovel, Dean's muscles became more and more exhausted, and he paused every-so-often in an attempt to regain some of his strength.

Glancing at the landscape around him, Dean noticed that he and Sam were not only the lone visitors to the cemetery, but seemingly the town as well. Not a single car had driven by since the brothers had arrived over two hours ago, and the shallow creek just beyond the cemetery's perimeter was eerily still. No one dared to venture from their air-conditioned homes.

Although the oppressive heat made his current job nearly unbearable, Dean silently thanked Mother Nature for ensuring their privacy in the wide open graveyard.

--------------

Sam continued to walk the perimeter of the cemetery, keeping his senses on alert for anyone who might be entering. Evergreen was an extensive property, but the trees were sparse and the bushes were few-and-far-between. While it made it difficult for Dean to stay out of sight, it also allowed Sam to have a clear view of the entire graveyard.

The sweat continued to pour off the youngest Winchester as he started his third lap around the property. As he furiously wiped the perspiration from the back of his neck, he suddenly wished he had listened to Dean all those times the older brother suggested Sam get a haircut. His shaggy locks certainly weren't doing him any favors at the moment.

On his fourth trip around the perimeter, Sam's pace began to slow. His movements became sluggish and it took all of his concentration to lift one leg and place it in front of the other.

As he staggered on, he couldn't help but think back to when he'd been attacked by the shtriga, though on this particular hunt, it was Mother Nature who was draining Sam's energy.

Unable to walk any further, Sam paused and leaned heavily against the cemetery's wrought iron fence. He was completely out of breath and figured a short rest wouldn't hurt; he still had a decent view of each of Evergreen's entrances.

Sam bent forward and rested his hands on his knees. He was completely drained and hoped his brief resting period would help him regain some of his strength. He needed to watch Dean's back.

Sam lifted his head and fixed his eyes on his brother. Despite the heat, Dean continued to dig furiously at his position towards the middle of the burial ground. Sam always did admire his brother's determination.

He continued to watch Dean until a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye refocused his attention.

Sam squinted and rubbed at his tired eyes in an attempt to make out the source of the movement. When his weary brown orbs finally focused, Sam let out a gasp.

It was a man.

Someone had entered through the cemetery's far gate, just beyond where Dean was digging. Whether the man was a visitor, a groundskeeper, or a policeman, Sam didn't know. All he knew for sure was that Dean was in deep shit.

Spurred into action by the prospect of his brother being caught, Sam pushed himself off the iron gate and sprinted toward Elizabeth's grave. He willed his rubbery legs to move faster as the man moved closer to where Dean continued to dig, unaware of the approaching threat.

"Dean!" Sam hadn't realized how parched he was until his brother's name came out of his mouth in a harsh whisper. "Dean!" he tried again, this time a bit louder.

Dean looked up to see his panicked brother running toward him. Tossing the shovel to the ground, he quickly climbed out of the shallow hole and grabbed Sam by the shoulders, effectively slowing the younger's momentum.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean's brow furrowed in concern as Sam struggled to catch his breath.

Unable to form the words, Sam simply pointed in the direction of the approaching man.

Dean whirled around and shoved Sam behind him, adrenaline coursing through his veins at the thought of someone -- or something -- coming for them.

But all he was met with was an eerie calm.

"Sam? What --"

"Dean, we've got to get out of here!" Sam grabbed his brother by the arm and tried to pull him toward the Impala. "Come on!"

"Sammy? Whoa, whoa. Stop!" Dean pulled free from Sam's weak grasp and looked into his terrified eyes. "What do you see?"

Sam continued to point in the direction of the visitor. "Him! That guy! Dean, we can't let him catch us!"

Dean turned once more and surveyed the graveyard. "Uh, Sam? There's nobody here."

"What are you talking about? He's right there!" Sam rubbed at his blurry eyes and looked in the direction of the potential threat.

No one was there.

Sam frantically surveyed the property and was met with an empty landscape.

"But he was there. I mean, I saw a guy."

"Right. You're not spazzing out on me there, are ya, Sammy?" Dean joked, nudging his brother in the shoulder.

"What? You don't believe me?" Sam asked bitterly as he advanced on Dean, clearly more angry than hurt.

Dean read Sam's body language and knew that now was not the time to rib his little brother about his freak-out. There would be plenty of time for that later.

"Of course I do, Sam. But there's obviously no one here now so can we get back to work?"

Sam scoffed. "You're so full of shit. You think I'm a nutjob, don't you?" Sam roughly jabbed Dean in the chest to emphasize his point. "I know what I saw!"

"Whoa! Hey!" Dean grabbed Sam's forearms in attempt to stop the uncharacteristic outburst. "Dude, I don't know what your deal is, but maybe you should dig for a little bit while that bug works its way out of your ass."

Dean grabbed the shovel and tossed it at Sam before heading off to play lookout.

--------------

Sam continued removing the dirt furiously, the adrenaline rush from his argument with Dean enabling his exhausted muscles to do their job.

How dare Dean not believe him? Sam knew what he saw, and it would only be a matter of time before his brother came running over to him with news that the mysterious man had returned.

Sam grit his teeth as he continued to dig.

With each heave of the shovel, Sam's t-shirt rubbed against his dry skin and he soon found himself imitating Dean's earlier actions and removing the offending article of clothing.

As he stuffed the surprisingly dry shirt down the back of his jeans, Sam noticed that his arms and legs were incredibly sun burnt. Glancing down at his bare chest, he found the flesh on his torso to be the same shade of red.

_How did I burn there already?_ Sam absently put a hand to his forehead and noted the absence of sweat, wondering if his face was as red as it felt.

He picked up the shovel and continued his task. As the adrenaline rush began to work its way out of his system, Sam's movements became increasingly lethargic. His biceps felt like rubber and his back ached with each heave of the tool. His head was pounding, and the blazing afternoon sun continued to beat down on his already scorching skin.

With his vision beginning to swim, Sam dropped the shovel and placed a steadying hand on the grass. He took a deep breath hoping to collect himself, but the pounding of his heart against his chest made it difficult to take more than short, shallow gasps.

Sam's world took on an ominous yellow tint before he found himself sliding to his knees, still struggling to catch his breath. Before long, everything went mercifully dark as Sam collapsed bonelessly into the shallow grave.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean walked the perimeter of Evergreen Cemetery, idly wondering what had gotten into his brother. He could never recall a time when Sam had lost his temper so quickly. A time, that is, that didn't involve their father.

What bothered Dean even more than Sam's outburst was the look of sheer panic he saw in his baby brother's eyes. What was it that Sam had seen? It couldn't have been a human being. According to Sam, the potential threat had been right in front of them, and there was no way an ordinary person could have disappeared so quickly in the wide open cemetery.

Dean highly doubted it was a spirit. Spirits usually did their thing at night, and Dean had been hunting with his brother long enough to know that it took a lot more than some garden-variety ghost to spook Sam.

He glanced over at his brother and sighed as Sam continued to thrust the dirt out of the hole.

Dean began to wonder if maybe Sam's Spidey senses were tingling and the kid had had a vision or something, like the premonitions he'd had about the Miller family back in Michigan. It was possible, although Sam's current behavior just didn't quite fit.

Back in Saginaw, Sam had been virtually incapacitated by his waking nightmares. The kid had barely been able to walk immediately following a vision, let alone sprint halfway across a cemetery. And Dean clearly remembered the sheen of sweat that had covered his brother's face after envisioning the Millers' deaths, and today, Sam wasn't even perspiring.

Dean stopped in his tracks and wiped the moisture from his brow.

Sam wasn't perspiring.

The blazing August sun had raised the heat index to a whopping one hundred and fifteen degrees, and Sam wasn't sweating.

Sam had sprinted halfway across the massive graveyard when he'd thought they might be in danger, yet there wasn't a drop of moisture on the kid's sun-burnt flesh.

_Shit. Had it even been sunburn?_

Dean's memory took him back to when he was a teenager and Pastor Jim Murphy had joined them on a hunt. They'd been tracking a creature in the Minnesota woods not too far from the priest's home when Jim had suddenly collapsed, and John had carried his friend the short distance back to the car.

Dean distinctly remembered the parched, red look their friend's skin had taken on, and his stomach twisted when he thought back to the events leading up to Murphy's collapse.

The hunters had entered the woods fully intending on locating the creature and emptying a round of silver into its heart. After hours of hiking with no sign that the enemy had even been there, the foursome had decided to call it quits and return the next day. It was then, Dean recalled, that Jim began pointing frantically to a clearing in the woods.

The priest claimed to have seen a dilapidated shed in the distance, stating that the creature had most likely taken shelter inside. When the other three hunters followed Murphy's gaze, they hadn't seen anything more than a few trees.

John Winchester had accused his friend of hitting the Communion wine a little too hard that morning, but the clergyman was insistent that the building had been there.

It wasn't until Jim had collapsed that John had realized that his friend's hallucination was a warning sign of his impending heatstroke.

Dean shook off the unpleasant memory and took a deep breath to calm his fraying nerves. He chanced a look at his brother, praying that the kid was simply sun-burnt and pissy, though Dean knew it was a long shot.

He felt the bile rise in his throat as he turned to face Elizabeth Howard's tombstone.

Sam was nowhere to be found.

Dean would never know how he covered the distance from the graveyard's iron fence to Elizabeth's tombstone in such a short amount of time, but in a few short strides, he was there.

Dean reluctantly peered into the shallow hole, knowing immediately what he would find.

There, on top of the dirt and roots and their shovel, lay Sam. If it hadn't been for the rapid rise and fall of Sam's bare chest, Dean would have thought the kid was dead.

_OhGodOhGodOhGod…_

"Sammy!" Dean crouched down into the partially dug grave and clutched his brother's face. "Sammy?" He lightly slapped Sam's cheek, doing his best to ignore the dry, red skin beneath his strong hands. "Come on, man. Don't do this." Dean tried to ignore the way his voice caught on that last statement and lightly slapped his brother again.

Sam remained perfectly still.

_Oh God, Sammy, I'm so sorry._

Dean tried to bring himself back to that day in Minnesota when Pastor Jim had fallen ill. His mind struggled to recall what his father had done to rouse their friend, but all Dean could think about was his lifeless brother laying limply across his lap. _Because of me_.

_Focus, Dean. Sammy needs you._

The older brother closed his eyes and took himself back to that day, back to Jim's prone form and his father's heroic actions.

"_Come on, boys. We've got to keep him cool." John said as he inserted the thermometer into his friend's mouth._

"_How, Dad?" Fifteen-year-old Dean asked. "We already got him in the air conditioning and he's still hot!"_

_John looked anxiously around Jim's living room for any source of relief for his suffering friend. "Icepacks," he finally decided. "Go see if Jim has any icepacks in the freezer, Sammy."_

_As the eleven-year-old sprinted off to the kitchen, John turned to Dean. "Go get the bath running. Warm water. I don't want him going from hot to cold so quickly."_

_Sam returned with three blue icepacks just as John removed the thermometer from Murphy's arid mouth. _

"_One hundred and two," John began. "If we can get his temperature down, he shouldn't need a hospital."_

Dean blinked the present day back into focus. All he had to do was get Sam back to the motel, cool him down, and pray that his high temperature would drop on its own.

Before he could do anything else, Dean first needed to get his brother out of the open grave.

Fortunately, neither sibling had made much progress with the shovel and the hole was still fairly shallow, but Sam was still a dead weight. Dean considered lifting his brother in a fireman's carry, but with nothing to grasp onto with his free hand, they would both be as good as stuck.

He rubbed his face with both hands and paced the narrow hole. _Think, man. _

Taking a deep breath, Dean decided his best bet would be to climb out of the hole himself and hope he could lift Sam from his vantage point on the grass.

He gently pulled his unconscious brother to a sitting position against the wall of the tomb before lifting himself out. From up on the grass, he was able to secure his hands firmly beneath Sam's armpits. He then dug the toes of his boots into the mud and braced himself the best he could before taking a deep breath and pulling.

The muscles in Dean's bare back strained with the effort of lifting over two hundred pounds of dead weight, but adrenaline coupled with sheer determination allowed the older brother to heave Sam's upper body over the edge of the shallow grave. From there, Sam's legs dragged easily.

He carefully maneuvered Sam's head into the crook of his arm before securing his other arm behind his brother's knees. Using whatever strength he might have had left in his legs, Dean lifted his brother and headed toward the car.

The car. Parked on the street at the far end of the cemetery.

Dean honestly didn't know whether or not he'd be able to support Sam's dead weight until they had reached the Impala, and if he collapsed from exhaustion as well, they'd both be as good as dead. _And it would be all my fault_.

Pausing briefly to look around, Dean spotted the shallow stream that ran parallel to the graveyard. It was a hell of a lot closer than the car, and maybe he'd be able to cool Sam off.

Sam's head began to loll and Dean held him tighter and cradled his brother's head in the crook of his neck.

"Hang on, Sammy. I gotcha," Dean assured, gently lowering Sam's prone form to the riverbank.

Dean immediately retrieved his shirt from the back of his pants, dunking it in the stream and squeezing it out over Sam's bare chest. When Dean was satisfied that Sam's torso was saturated, he laid the wet shirt across Sam's chest. He carefully removed his brother's t-shirt from the back of Sam's jeans and tossed that into the creek as well. Once the clothing was soaked, Dean squeezed the water out over Sam's arms and face. Despite the overwhelming heat, the shade from the trees kept the stream water cool, and Dean hoped it would be enough.

Dean repeated the motions of saturating their shirts with the cool water, hopeful that Sam's body temperature would be coming down but still leery of the kid's rapid pulse. It hadn't slowed much since Dean had found him, and the older brother worried that if it didn't steady itself soon, Sam could go into cardiac arrest.

Dean considered calling for an ambulance before remembering their reasoning for being at Evergreen in the first place. The police would surely question him, but he'd risk it for Sam.

He pulled out his cell phone and was waiting for a signal when Sam's eyelids began to flutter.

Dean flipped the phone shut and ran a hand through is brother's hair. "Sam? Come on, buddy. Time to wake up."

Sam blinked rapidly and continued to struggle for air.

"Hey, hey," Dean soothed. "You've got to calm down, Sammy. You're okay."

When Sam responded by darting his eyes frantically around the cemetery, Dean pulled him into his lap and rested Sam's back against his chest.

"Come on, Sam. Breathe with me. In and out, just like me."

Sam clutched the fabric of his brother's pants in an attempt to steady his breathing, and as he listened to Dean's strong, calming voice, his pulse finally began to slow.

"That's it, kiddo. Nice and slow." Dean worked to keep his breathing as steady as possible until Sam was able to get his bearings.

Sam's grip on his brother's jeans finally loosened as he slowly inhaled and exhaled, keeping time with the rise and fall of Dean's chest against his back. Swallowing to try and moisten his parched throat, Sam made an effort to speak.

"Wha--" he managed to croak out.

"Shh," Dean whispered. "Don't try and talk. You passed out from the heat but you're gonna be fine, Sammy. I've got you." _I need to fix this._

Sam attempted a nod as his head drooped against Dean's shoulder, his eyes slowly slipping closed.

"Sam? Hey," Dean gripped his brother's chin and turned Sam's head to face him. "Stay with me, man."

When Sam's eyelids fluttered in response, he carefully placed two fingers on Sam's neck and felt the steady rhythm of his pulse. Sam's breathing had finally regulated after several agonizing minutes, so Dean concentrated on the fever.

"Okay, buddy. I'm gonna take you to the car, okay? We'll go back to the motel and everything will be fine." Dean gathered both their shirts and placed them both in the creek one last time, squeezing them both out over Sam's chest and face before attempting to lift his brother once more.

This time, he managed to gather Sam into his arms in a fireman's carry before collecting their t-shirts and heading for the Impala.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys! Happy Thursday:)

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Once Sam was situated across the backseat, Dean placed both waterlogged shirts over his brother's torso in an attempt to keep him cool until they reached the motel.

He placed a hand on Sam's forehead and sighed in relief as he felt the familiar moisture beginning to seep from Sam's skin once more.

The drive to the motel was brief, but for Dean, they couldn't have gotten there fast enough. He eased the Impala into the parking space just outside their room and silently thanked Sam for insisting that they check in before heading to the cemetery.

Dean carefully collected his barely-conscious sibling from the backseat and placed Sam's arm over his shoulder. Placing an arm around Sam's waist, Dean took most of his brother's weight and essentially dragged him into the inviting, air-conditioned room.

Though he was beginning to buckle under Sam's weight, Dean still managed to lead his little brother to the bed farthest from the door.

Dean quickly stripped the blankets from the bed and eased Sam down onto the pillows. Grabbing their first aid kit, Dean removed the thermometer and balanced it under Sam's tongue, all too aware that Sam was hardly conscious enough to hold it there.

"Sam? Keep that thermometer in, okay? I'm gonna run out and get you some ice. I'll be back in a minute."

Dean didn't wait for a reply. He grabbed a handful of quarters out of his pocket and headed for the door, locking it securely behind him.

Once the coins were deposited and the ice bucket began to fill, Dean placed a steadying hand on the large machine.

_Oh my God,_ he thought. _Sam could have died today. Sam could have died because of _me._ What the hell was I thinking making him dig in that heat?_

Dean didn't wait for the last of the ice cubes to bounce into the bucket. He sprinted for the room and unlocked the door, almost expecting to find the thermometer on the pillow next to Sam's unconscious form.

To his relief, Sam still held the instrument, albeit loosely, under his tongue.

"Sammy, I'm back." Dean walked into the bathroom and turned the bathtub faucet to a lukewarm setting. Before heading back into the room, he retrieved four thinning washcloths from the rack.

He quickly wrapped two of the cloths around a handful of ice cubes and placed them underneath Sam's armpits. Once the makeshift icepacks were secure, Dean took off his brother's boots and began the task of removing Sam's jeans. Tossing them to the floor, Dean wrapped two more icepacks and laid them behind Sam's knees.

Dean removed the thermometer from Sam's mouth, almost afraid to see the results. A temperature of one hundred and three or higher would require hospitalization, and he simply didn't want to put Sam through that if it could be prevented.

Taking a deep breath, Dean looked down at the instrument.

101.8.

_Thank God._

It wasn't ideal and certainly much too high for Dean's liking, but it could have been much worse.

"Your fever isn't that bad," Dean half-lied. "We just need to bring it down a little more," he reassured, making his way to the bathroom and shutting off the faucet. He stuck his hand in the tub water to make sure it hadn't gotten too cold before going back into the room and over to his bag.

"Here, Sam. Sip this," he said, gently lifting Sam's head and helping him take a drink of the bottled water.

"Not so fast, man." Dean pulled the bottle away when Sam began to cough. "Just sip it. It's all I had in my bag but I'll get you some juice or something later."

Sam weakly nodded his thanks and pulled away from the drink. He nestled his head back into the pillows and closed his eyes, fully intent on drifting back off.

"Hang on there, Sleeping Beauty."

When Sam cracked his eyelids, Dean continued.

"Bath time."

Had Sam been the least bit coherent, he would have been horrified. The lack of protest only served to remind Dean that Sam's fever needed to be dealt with. Now.

Dean gathered the melting icepacks and placed them on the nightstand. He carefully eased Sam into a sitting position, propping the pillows up behind him. Carefully standing his brother up, Dean waited until he was sure Sam had found his equilibrium before leading the boxer-clad man to the bathroom.

Once inside, Dean helped Sam step into the bathtub, careful to keep a steadying grip on both of the younger's arms in case he were to slip.

When Sam was finally situated in a half sitting, half laying position against the back of the tub, Dean grabbed the remaining washcloth and set about soaking his brother's fevered body.

As he squeezed the tepid water over Sam's hair, Dean couldn't help but think back to all the times he'd bathed Sam when they were kids.

Sammy had always hated bath time; always put up a fight when Dean would announce it was time. He'd scream, splash, and make the task nearly impossible for his big brother, but Dean had never minded. He had never told Sam or their father, but Dean secretly relished the responsibility. He had felt needed in those moments, and he wouldn't have traded that time with Sammy for anything.

Dean was quickly brought back to the present when Sam's body began to slide down the cool porcelain of the tub. Grabbing a hold of his brother's underarms, Dean hauled Sam back up to a sitting position and continued to cool his body down.

When he was satisfied that Sam was as cooled down as he was going to get, Dean drained the tub and retrieved a towel from the rack behind the door. He toweled off Sam's head and face before helping him to stand, conscious of the fact that Sam was still in no condition to stand on his own.

Dean kept a supportive hand wrapped around Sam's back as he dried off Sam's upper body. After cautiously maneuvering his brother out of the tub, Dean managed to lead Sam back to the bed where he slid him under the covers and began the clumsy process of getting Sam into a dry pair of underwear.

Once Sam was dressed and settled against the headboard, Dean once more stuck the thermometer under Sam's tongue and headed out in search of a vending machine. He bought two bottles of juice to hold Sam over until Dean was able to get to the store.

Back in the room, Dean took the thermometer and offered Sam the drinks in exchange.

100.2.

Dean glanced at Sam and grinned. The fever had come down a full degree since the bath. _Thank God._

After Sam downed the first drink, he made his way under the covers and eased his head into the pillows. He felt as if he could sleep for days.

"Hey," Dean began. "I'm gonna go to the store while you sleep. You want anything specific?"

He took Sam's grunt as a "No, but thanks."

"Alright. It's just up the block so I won't be long. I'm waking you up when I get back so you can eat something."

Sam softly snored in response.

--------------

True to his word, Dean was back in the room within twenty minutes. The sun had finally set, relieving the city of the oppressive heat if only for the night.

He gently nudged his brother awake and opened a box of crackers, watching attentively as Sam tried to ease himself up.

Sam's entire body felt like rubber. His head felt detached from his body and his wobbly arms barely supported his weight. Dean moved to help, but Sam shrugged him off. "I'm okay."

Despite the feeling of being slammed into by a semi, Sam was absolutely starving. He hadn't eaten since they'd stopped for doughnuts early that morning, and the events of the day left him in desperate need of food.

"Is that soup?" Sam asked jadedly, eyeing the bag of groceries.

"Yeah, but that's for later. You're still shaky and there's no way I'm wiping hit soup off your lap," Dean teased, handing over the Saltines. Sam may not have been ready for the soup, but he was sitting up on his own, and that managed to ease a bit of Dean's nervousness.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was groggy and it was difficult to form the words around the arid feeling in his throat.

"Yeah?"

"Wha' happened out there?"

Dean swallowed. "What do you remember?"

"I, uh," Sam took a deep breath and readjusted himself against the headboard. "I took the…perimeter…you dug a grave…there was a man…" Sam's eyes widened as pieces of the day began falling into place. "Oh God, he didn't catch us, did he? Did he see us, Dean?"

Dean recognized the panic in his brother's eyes. It had been the same look he'd seen on Sam's face earlier in the day, and he couldn't bear to tell the kid it had all been a hallucination.

"No, no. It's okay. I told him we worked there. Do you remember anything after that?"

Sam paused for a moment, the panic slowly morphing into confusion as he tried to recall the rest of the afternoon. "I…I can't remember."

"Well, you uh…" Dean suddenly had difficulty forming the words. _I made you do this. You didn't want to, but I talked you into it._ "You passed out from the heat and I brought you back here."

Sam processed that for a moment. "How long…was I out?"

_Too long._ "Ah, not too long. You came to in the cemetery but you've been pretty out of it until now."

"Oh." Sam's eyes widened as he took in the rest of Dean's sentence. "Wait…the grave…wha' happened? Did you burn the bones?"

"No. We barely scratched the surface. The heat was--"

"Dean, we've got to get back over there!"

"What? Are you crazy?"

"If we don't…burn those bones…someone else…is going to die." Sam glanced at the clock. "Oh God, what if it already happened? What if Elizabeth's spirit killed another man?"

Dean knew it was a possibility. If another victim hadn't already been lured, chances are it would happen within the next couple of hours.

Not that Sam needed to know that.

"Relax, Sammy," Dean said as evenly as possible. "You need to calm down."

"How…the hell am I…supposed to calm down? We left…a job unfinished and now…some innocent guy is gonna…die because of it. So don't…tell me--"

"_Sam_!"

When the younger man flinched, Dean softened his tone and looked Sam in the eye.

"Look, we tried, okay? You said it yourself once. We can't save everyone."

"But there's still time! We can still…get back out there and…finish burning the bones."

"Uh-uh. No way."

"What? Why?"

"Why? Sam, have you looked in the mirror lately? No way you're going out there to dig a grave."

"Then you go. You finish it."

Dean's brow furrowed. He shot Sam a look that clearly read, _are you out of your freakin' mind?_

"Are you out of your freakin' mind? I'm not leaving you here."

"There's no other way! You need to…get back out there."

"You _passed out,_ Sam. Your fever was a hundred and two degrees. If you think I'm leaving you alone, then you're more delirious than I thought."

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe…you're okay with just sitting back…and doing nothing. You were the one…who was all about getting this grave dug…in the first place."

_Exactly,_ Dean thought to himself.

Dean cleared his throat and attempted to look convincing. "Maybe Elizabeth's spirit won't strike this year. Maybe the cops are patrolling the area. Let them handle it."

"You really believe that?"

"I will if you will. Now shut up and eat your crackers."

Sam unwillingly obliged, and after devouring half the box of Saltines, the youngest Winchester slowly drifted back to sleep.

Dean stretched out on his own bed and turned on the TV. Muting the sound, he flipped to the local news station just in time to catch the tail end of a breaking news story.

Images of Catalina State Park flashed onscreen. Police had roped off the area and rescue teams scoured the river. From what Dean could gather from the silent report, the spirit had, in fact, claimed its eighth victim.

Dean clicked the TV off and stared up at the shadows on the dark ceiling. Truth was, he felt just as guilty as Sam. It bothered him to no end that an innocent man's life had been taken when there was the possibility that Dean could have done something about it.

He rolled over on his side and watched the silhouette of his sleeping brother. Sooner or later, Sam's curiosity would get the best of him and he'd want to know if anything had happened in Catalina. Dean honestly didn't know what he'd tell him.

But Sam was here and Sam was safe.

They'd sort the rest out later.

end


End file.
